


Taste of Nectar

by clutzycricket



Series: Taste of Nectar [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Crack Treated Seriously, Drabble Collection, Female Friendship, Gen, Interfering Relatives, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jon Snow knows nothing, Multi, Sibling Bonding, Wold Newton Universe Style
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-01-14 00:21:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 14,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1245745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clutzycricket/pseuds/clutzycricket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pull your covers high, count your crows twice, and keep your candle tight, for the night is dark is dark and full of terrors. (But I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.) </p><p>In a world where winter winds bring in the dead and wicked magic flourishes, sometimes you have to make hard choices, and sometimes family isn't always enough.</p><p>(They try, though. My god, do they try.)</p><p>A series of prompts, drabbles, and one-shots.</p><p> </p><p>Chapter 21: Sansa isn't a relationship therapist. Jon doesn't seem to realize this.<br/>Chapter 22: The Siblings Targaryen and friends. (Also, Sam Tarly is a good friend.)<br/>Chapter 23: Jeyne Westerling is pretty sure her life is the cringe-worthy sort of romantic comedy. (But she can mostly work around that.)<br/>Chapter 24: Three little love stories. (Elia/Rhaegar/Arthur, Renly/Loras, Margaery/Steve Rogers)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Strange Little Town](https://archiveofourown.org/works/912049) by [neverwheredreamer (clutzycricket)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clutzycricket/pseuds/neverwheredreamer). 



It was just grey on the day of Elia’s funeral, which Renly considered on the nose enough that he wondered if weather magic was involved. 

Rhae had been looking miserable at the burial, standing silently over her brothers and trying to balance on her crutches. Jon and Egg had been trying to keep her from falling, he’d noticed. And Rhaegar had been standing off with his normal level of creepy pointy-eared woe-is-me, while Viserys had kept shooting her puzzled looks. (Sarella had made the universal sign of fanged-fey- _fuckery_ , then looked pointedly at how slowly Rhae’s leg was healing compared to Egg, who had had been knocked out by whatever had… hit them.)

Stannis had shot him a look meant to replace a lecture when he went to find her at the memorial, after. (Winter burials were terribly unlucky, Selyse had said in that carrying stage murmur, and it had been good of Rhaegar to procure the spells to ensure Elia wouldn’t walk. Stannis looked pinched at that, and Renly would have hexed her if she wasn’t pregnant and crankier than normal with it. Robert had agreed with Renly, for once, but that was mostly because of Lyanna Stark, who had died when Jon was born, and fucking hell, did no one but Sarella and Renly find that really weird?)

Rhaenys was in the little greenhouse that had belonged to Myriah Martell, like a hundred years ago, and the one that Elia had been working on for as long as Renly could remember. There was a small climbing bush of blood roses, jennycrown, and other plants scattered about,on trestle tables and chains. Her workdesk was disturbingly empty, and Renly chose not to think about the rumors about what Elia had been doing, driving with her children after dark along the old Bone Road.

Renly helped her up, scooping up the crutches as well. A year younger than him, she was almost as tall, though Renly was about to hit a growth spurt if Dr. Cressen was right. 

"I’m fine," she said. At least Renly thought that was what she said, since it was muffled by his shirt. 

“ _How_  were you going to get back up?” he asked her. Rhae sighed and leaned back, accepting the crutches and batting at the loose patch of potting soil that must have tripped her up.

"He won’t look me in the eyes," she said. "Not since I woke up in the hospital. The Uncles want me to stay with them for a while, and Egg can’t sleep through the night and Viserys is acting like… like I did something wrong, and I can’t leave Jon with him, or Dany, because she’s seven, Renly, she doesn’t have a clue what’s going on, but she knows everyone is upset and Dad’s locking himself in his office and forgot to make dinner, and it is really really hard to make spaghetti sauce on that stove, did you know that? And I want Sarella, or Arianne, or Mrs. Cat, or Aunt Ellaria, or someone who is capable of keeping everything together without  _screaming_ , because I just…” She was shaking. “I don’t know what to  _do._  I want my Mum, only she’s dead, and I  _saw_ …”

She’d seen her die. Renly hugged her, feeling stupid as the crutches slid, and Rhaenys started sobbing into his shirt. “Stannis will let you come over for dinner if you need it,” Renly said, trying to think of something. Rhae was his best friend, the one he’d accidentally told that he was into boys “like that” and had promised to keep it a secret, and had been crazy enough to go along with his and Tyrion’s stupid plans. “And I can come over and help, maybe? Mrs. Tyrell is nice, she’ll probably let Egg and Jon stay over after school with Loras some days, and Viserys is like fifteen, he’ll be fine on his own. Dany and you are no big deal, since you don’t eat much. Plus the Starks and your crazy uncles, and your godfather…”

Rhaenys flinched at that, and Renly kicked himself. He really wasn’t good at this, was he? “Yeah.”

"Well, you  _are_  my favorite cousin, I have to look out for you, I think it’s a rule somewhere.” He forced a grin. “We can ask Stannis, he’ll know.”

"I’m not actually your cousin," she said, a hint of challenge in her eyes. Renly had heard enough of the gossip about the mysterious and sudden marriage of Rhaegar and Elia seven months before Rhaenys had been born, including Selyse’s kind of insane theories about tantric sex magic that had lead to really, really stupid Google searches and Sarella making really gross theories about his brother’s sex life. But no one actually gave any solid answers, and violet eyes were something both the Daynes and Targaryens had in common.

Not having the not-human-we-don’t-name-what-they-really-are Targaryen healing pretty much gave some solid answers, though, especially when Egg was fine within a few hours.

"That’s why your my favorite," Renly said, trying for the same tone of voice he used to explain a new plan. 

Rhae giggled a bit at that, and Renly gave Mrs. Stark a grateful look when she came in. Mrs. Stark was  _good_  with people. 

But Renly had made Rhae laugh, and that was going to be enough for now.


	2. Confession (Aegon x Shireen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aegon is trying to explain something to Shireen. (Aegon is 26, Shireen is 19.)

Aegon takes long, slow breaths out of his nose when he is angry, a trait he shares with his older sister, Shireen notices. (RenlyandRhaenys, and later Loras, had visited when she was away at school- Mother and her family all hated Westeros, and Father had reluctantly allowed her to be sent to boarding schools since she was old enough.) The habit almost makes him resemble a dragon- a blue-haired dragon with glittering earrings and an eyebrow piercing, admittedly.

"I swear to Balerion himself," he muttered, "that if  _one_  more person interrupts us…”

Shireen grinned. Renly had been first, breezing into town to visit. Aegon had been alright with that- Renly had been over Dragonstone almost as often as he’d been at home, and Aegon and Loras were old friends as well, so it hadn’t been too annoying when he dropped in. 

Then it had been Arya and Bran, who had come over to drag her to see the new “lets explode everything and maybe have a plot” movie. Aegon had been trying to tell her something, and Arya had picked up a kitchen knife to juggle, because she was  _Arya_.

Aegon had started muttering about conspiracies when ‘Bella showed up, having just gotten home herself and picked the front lock. Shireen had started to agree when Mya had dropped by to ask if she needed a summer job or anything.

"You had something you wanted to tell me?" Shireen said, after dragging him upstairs, locking her bedroom door and sitting firmly on her bed. (Thankfully, her father had never let her mother make the room too frilly- Shireen had replaced the pink lace comforter that Myrcella had picked out for her when they were eight, and wasn’t too embarrassed.)

"I’m starting to feel like a dirty old man," he said thoughtfully. "You’re Bella’s age…"

"I am an  _adult_ ,” Shireen said, rolling her eyes. “I have been for a few years. Uncle Renly says I am the oldest person he knows. And you’re… what, twenty-five? Go talk to Willas Tyrell if you want issues.”

"I did," Aegon said to the ceiling. "Robb wanted Jon and I for back-up after the Sansa thing."

No one had told Shireen much about the Sansa thing, except that Willas had been missing since Shireen was little, and then he was married to a pregnant Sansa.

"Right. And there are no legal issues regarding us having sex, if that is what you are worried about," Shireen continued, ignoring how badly she was blushing. It clashed horribly with her greyscale, making her go tomato red. "And yes, I know about sex, having lived in dormitories for most of my life." She made her eyes slightly wider and more innocent, a trick that worked for Myrcella. "Also, your sister ended up giving me the talk."

Aegon blinked at that. “Rhaenys? Why… oh, god, Renly tried, didn’t he?”

"He thought school too clinical, my father supremely uninterested, and he started stuttering when my mother was brought up," Shireen ticked off. "Rhaenys salvaged it."

"I can only imagine," he sat next to her, still a bit stunned. "…I suppose it’s better than Uncle Oberyn, though. That poor banana…"

Shireen couldn’t help it, she started laughing at that, and then he started laughing, and apparently no one had remembered to get the lock on her door finished, and her father was peering in suspiciously. 

"Targaryen," he said, looking as disapproving as she’d ever seen him.

"I have tried to tell her," Aegon said, straightening up. "I think your brother decided to send people around to interrupt us, though."

"Tell me what?" Shireen asked, looking between the two of them, wondering if this was the big secret she kept feeling like she was missing.

"Ah, well," Aegon rubbed the back of his neck, and why weren’t his eyes blue anymore? "You  _see_ …”


	3. Prompt: Cooking (Aegon, Jon, Rhaenys)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aegon is 13, Jon 12, and Rhaenys 17.

"Right," Egg said, looking at the kitchen. Rhaenys was busy at work, and he and Jon were supposed to go out with Robb and Loras to get dinner and work on homework, but Loras had the flu and Robb wanted to work on his science project with Jeyne… so Aegon should really be focusing on _this_. 

He had an A in science, which was  _kind of_  the same. He had Jon, who was good at the details stuff.

Pasta and sauce shouldn't be that hard. They had frozen meatballs from the butcher’s shop, and he just had to heat them in the sauce. Then Rhaenys would be home when they were putting the food on the table, and they could bring Dad up a plate to pick at, and he would surprise them both. (Well... Rhaenys. Dad probably wouldn't notice.)

Jon was looking dubiously at the kitchen, which probably needed to be repainted. (Mum had done it all in bronze and orange before she died, and installed a new stove and cabinets that weren't  _black_. “Kitchens,” she had apparently said, “weren't tombs, Rhaegar.”)

"I don’t think Alfredo sauce is meant for meatballs, Egg," Jon said. "Maybe we could call Sam?"

Egg shook his head, grinning broadly. “We’ll be fine- your Aunt Cat made something with meat and white sauce, so this shouldn't be too different.” He probably should have asked Mrs. Stark, but he could handle this. It was in a jar.

Twenty minutes later, Jon was poking the congealed mass of what had been spaghetti. “Did you know spaghetti could melt?”

"I don’t think it melted," Egg mused, pulling off a chunk and popping it in his mouth. "It’s chewy- I think it might have just shredded and  _glued_  itself somehow.”

Jon nodded. “And how are we getting the sauce off of the grate?” The grate, Egg thought gloomily, looked like burnt cheese coating chain mail. It wasn't the only place it had gotten- his shirt was wrecked, and he’d probably be chiseling it off the counter around the stove.

"The meatballs aren't ruined," he felt the need to point out.

"Because they were still frozen," Jon replied, as he pulled one of the creepy blue-covered wire pads out from under the sink.

And then there was the distinct clip of Rhaenys’ heels on the stone of the walkway. “What is that  _smell_?”

"Shit," Aegon hissed as his sister walked in, looking exhausted. 

"What happened?" Rhaenys asked, bruised eyes wide.

"Surprise?" Jon tried. 

Rhaenys looked around, taking in the exploded Alfredo sauce, the congealed pasta, and the knife sticking out of the corkboard from his and Jon’s knife throwing contest. “You should let the meatballs defrost overnight, I think,” she said finally. “Do you still have the money I gave you for dinner?”

Egg nodded, swiping at the counter with a rag. “Pizza?”

"Pizza," she said faintly. "Where is Dany?"

"She’s out with Doreah," Jon said, trying to prop himself on a clean bit of counter. "She wanted to get some clothes for spring or something."

Rhaenys nodded. “And Dad?”

"Office," Egg said. "He’ll want to split a Mediterranean Veggie with you, I think."

"Shameless bribery," she said wryly. "But you still have to clean this mess up, and I’ll put the meatballs away to defrost for tomorrow." She paused. "Why were we going to have meatballs with Alfredo sauce?"

Jon pointed at Egg. “Aunt Cat made something like it?”

Rhaenys blinked. And crossed her arms. And opened her mouth. And uncrossed her arms. “…Stroganoff?”

"Yes!" Aegon jumped up and crowed, because he was right. "That! It was good!"

"…So, next semester you are  _so_  taking home economics,” Rhaenys said wryly. “I’ll talk to Dad and get him to sign the proper forms.”

Jon nodded solemnly. “Good idea.”


	4. Prompt: Coprolalia (Sansa/Willas)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Sansa is 23, Willas 33.) 
> 
> Preparing for the annual Tyrell masquerade...

## 

 

"Fucking hell," Willas found himself saying, not really caring about mortal manners right now, because, well,  _Sansa_. In…

"Ellaria Sand, at the costume shop, she said it was a good fit?" Sansa said, biting her lip. She looked a bit fragile sometimes, not at all like the girl who had marched on Melisande and demanded Willas’ freedom and won. Jon Targaryen had winced when he asked, and said that the cause had been dealt with. Given his brother’s snort, Willas had a feeling he didn’t want to know yet. 

"Gods all bless," he agreed, because the dress was clearly meant to be a vampire costume to match his, complete with improbably lifting corset that was probably enchanted. "Though I would really love to see you  _out_  of it.”

"Oh?" Sansa asked, arching an eyebrow while simultaneously blushing down past her neckline. 

Willas nodded. “Mmm, I really do want to see how far down you blush,” he said, coming closer as carefully as he could. “Should I start from the top down,” and here he traced the neckline, which was very low indeed, and watched as the hitch in her breath caused the beads of her choker to dance on her skin- she must, Willas thought absently, have used rice powder to hide the faint dusting of freckles she picked up in the summer. “Or work my way up from the bottom?”

Willas, as frustrated as he was with his limitations in the mortal world as he was, had to admit that the cane had its uses. Lifting up her skirts with it while she  _squeaked_  and laughed was one of them.

"If you aren’t careful we won’t make it to the party," Sansa pointed out, leaning backwards slightly to face him. "And you did want to question Marg’s new boyfriend."

"Oberyn trusts him," Willas pouted, trying to figure the best angle to drop a kiss where her shoulder and neck joined. The damn choker wasn’t helping."Whoever he is."

"That is not the sort of recommendation that will please Loras,": Sansa reminded him with a laugh. "And we promised your mother that we would keep Loras from fighting him."

Willas muttered, something obscene while he finally managed to balance, kiss Sansa’s neck, and avoid a mouth full of crystal. He looked up, startled. “This isn’t rice powder.”

Sansa threw back her head and laughed, which caused her to brush up against him interestingly. He shifted so the stiffer bits of the skirts-or her knee- didn’t catch on his knee-brace. “Jeyne got it for my bachelorette party,” she explained. “It’s called honey dust.” She sighed. “It was meant to be a  _surprise_ after the party.”

"Well, lets take this as a sign that the rest of my large, extended family is enough to judge Marg’s new plaything, and not be the one yelled at for interfering with her life after over a decade in Elfhame?" he mused with a mask of lightness and mock-innocence that didn’t fool his wife for a moment.

Sansa straightened and glared at him. “Willas Tyrell, I will not be the excuse you use to keep away from the rest of the world, especially your  _family_! Margaery wants you to meet him, and you are going. Afterwards, if you are very good and don’t growl at everyone, get roaringly drunk with Mr. Martell, or enchant yourself invisible so _I_  have to deal with  _your_  grandmother inquiring about how we are bringing up Miranda, I will take these thrice damned corset strings, tie you to a bed, and ride you until you scream for mercy. If you do not follow those rules, you will be sleeping with the honey dust and nothing else.”

They were silent for a long, awkward moment.

"…Did I actually just say all that out loud?" Sansa asked him, eyes very wide.

It was Willas’ turn to laugh, and they only were a little late to the party in the end.

Willas did give Sansa a significant look as Olenna Tyrell neared, however, turning Sansa as red as a pomegranate. 


	5. Prompt: Costume (Margaery/Steve)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margaery is 26- Set at the same time as the previous fic.

Margaery pinned back the errant lock of hair, tilting her head this way and that to ensure nothing was out of place.

If she was honest with herself- and she tried to be- she was also looking for the best angle to watch Steve try and put on his costume. The man was almost poetical without a shirt.  

"Did I ever thank you for picking out the costume idea?" she asked. Steve looked up from undoing the buttons on his shirt. The room wasn’t terribly large, so he was wedged between the monstrously oversized bed and the deep closet that had possibly once been a priest hole.

Though why they would need one…

"Ah, you might have once or twice," he said, giving her a curious look. "Though I would have thought…"

Margaery flashed a wicked grin. “That I would have picked them out myself?” He nodded. “Yes, well, traditionally the significant other picks the costume for this.” She wrinkled her nose. “Mother’s idea, actually, something about Tyrell ostentatiousness.”

Steve gave her a wry look. “Really? Never would have guessed.”

She rolled her eyes. “You will get along magnificently with Garlan,” she predicted. “I will have to simply drag you away.” She slid around on the bench to face him without putting a kink in her back, silver skirt pooling and chiming.

Steve looked at the costume, and Margaery mused on the even split between shameless amusement and wild blushing with the Tyrell significant others. “I’m not very…”

Margaery stood up, smoothing the complicated pattern of her dress. “Can I tell you a secret?” she asked, hand on her hip. “Half the people at the party are going to be horrible dancers, or inexperienced, or probably sit along the sidelines.” She tallied it up in her head. “Well, Catelyn Stark will probably drag her husband out at least once, and I don’t know if Renly managed to drag Rhaenys home. But Willas, Stannis Baratheon, probably Jon Targaryen, Quentyn…”

"Ariella’s grandson?" Steve looked bemused at that. "It’s funny, her dragging that poor airman home…" He frowned. "She didn’t actually drag him home with her, did she? Literally. Because I don’t want to think she would do that, but it was Ariella."

"Apparently they were happy until the day he died," Margaery shrugged. "You should ask… probably Quentyn. He’s the sanest of them all. And I try to avoid anything Oberyn Martell is involved with." 

Excluding her brother, of course.

"Stark likes him," Steve said dubiously. Clever man, to realize that Tony Stark wasn’t the best judge of character. (Pepper Potts was the exception that proved that rule.)

"Yes, well, they were, as you put it, fondueing," she pointed out, using the sight of Steve Rogers pulling on his button-up shirt to sooth her slightly frazzled nerves. "Though avoiding that term in front of Renly, he…"

"Will use it until the joke isn’t dead, its a wight," Steve recited, looking amused. "You told me earlier. Twice."

"Sorry," Margaery shook her head. "This is… the first masquerade since Will was brought back to us, and…" She stopped, flicking the silver hairbrush on the old oak table. While they’d been offered rooms in Highgarden before the masquerade, Margaery had chosen to take Aegon up on his offer to let them stay in Dragonstone before the official "meet-the-parents". Which… she’d forgotten how terrifyingly  _bleak_  Dragonstone was.

"Are you embarrassed?" Steve asked, cutting through her thoughts, and Margaery blinked. 

"No! No no no, I swear, just a bit high strung," she said. Steve just stood there, and Margaery mentally laughed at anyone who dismissed him as a pretty meat suit. Really. "I don’t, typically, bring anyone home." She ran through the calculations. "Not since my first year at uni, actually. It… ended badly."

"Ariella did warn me about Westeros," Steve said, not quite agreeing, not quite giving her an out. 

"Among other things," Margaery said, not wanting to admit how badly she miscalculated. 

Steve, darling man, seemed to catch her discomfort and continued to set up his Hollywood finery. (She had to give Steve credit- the silent film era had glorious costumes that could properly breathe without showing enough skin to make Papa have a coronary.)

The companionable silence that made up a good portion of their time together- knowing the other person was there if needed or wanted, but trusted the other to do their own thing- lasted until Aegon reminded them both that he did not need locks, and Margaery cursed dragonlord  _liannan sidhe_  under her breath.


	6. Prompt: Cry(ing with Laughter) Elia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Rhaenys, Renly, Leonette and Ami are about twelve/thirteen, Arianne fifteen, Aegon eight, Jon six. AKA the equivalent of ~291 AC in canon.)

 

Despite everything, most of Elia’s tears these days are the sort caused by laughter. 

One _perfect_  example is allowing her very contrite husband to magic them home to Dragonstone after the car broke down  _again_ , only to watch him get beaned in the face by an orange.

The normally shameless Ami Frey makes a sort of horrified choking noise, and Leonette is hiding her field hockey stick behind Renly. Jon, bless him, is trying to hide behind Arianne, who is watching all of this with a wicked grin that means that Doran (and Oberyn’s girls) will know everything tomorrow morning.

Egg, who is oblivious as ever, makes a cheering sound. “Yes, it worked! Ten points to my team!”

"Wait, what?" Rhae looks at him in annoyance, shouldering her way past a sputtering Rhaegar. It is only now that Elia notices that they are all wearing the most godawful kneesocks. "Leo made the hit!"

Leonette whimpers, and Elia hides her grin behind her hand and carefully _does not look_  at her niece.

"It was supposed to hit you!" Egg points out, and Elia does desperately need to teach her son tact, because there is being eight and there is annoying a not-quite-teenage sorceress.

"It wasn’t supposed to hit anyone!" Arianne pointed out wryly, hands on her hips in a way that reminds Elia of Mellario. "The fruit was for the  _victors_.”

Rhaegar looked at the orange, then hands it to a twitching Leonette. “That was a good hit, dear, you should keep at it, never know when it will come in handy.” He looks mildly at Aegon. “Don’t magic things to hit your sister, Aegon.” He gives Elia a questioning look, because Elia is traditionally the responsible parent. Elia nods, not trusting herself to do anything else.

Then he drifts off as he does, and Elia manages to keep her wild cackling under control, despite the tears of mirth pricking her eyes, until she manages to exit and follow her husband, who is possibly a bigger prankster than even Oberyn when the spirit moves him.


	7. Prompt: Darkness (Within) Viserys, Rhaenys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set about two weeks after Elia's funeral.
> 
> (Note: I seriously didn’t mean for the “liar and a thief” quote to show up, but… damn, I need that Rumplestiltskin gif about irony being everywhere…)

The greenhouse was alive again, plants flowering in a riot of color under a witch’s care, with the short mourning period of plant life over again. 

(“Plants do not mourn witches,” Elia had taught him with a gentle sort of humor. “They mourn being alone. A bit like Targaryens, that way.”)

"Do you need something, Viserys?"

Rhaenys had taken over Elia’s greenhouse after the Accident, Viserys knew. He’d just… not actually met her in the greenhouse before this. 

It wasn’t that he was avoiding her. No. He wouldn’t avoid Elia’s daughter… except for the crutches that were still propped up against the workbench, the cast still on her leg and the fading bruises and cuts along her arms.

It should have hurt, to see his friend and niece in pain. It did, and he’d nearly lost it when Rhaegar went flying out of the house, because Elia was dead and Rhaenys might have-  _should_  have- joined her.

But it didn’t make  **sense**. Elia loved Rhaegar, everyone knew that. And true, Rhaegar had dishonored himself with the Stark girl, but she had been old enough to consent. (If only barely, Arianne’s voice muttered in his head.) And that had been years after Rhaenys had been born.

But Rhaenys wasn’t a Targaryen. Most of it, people could have chalked up to taking after Elia, but he’d heard some people talking at the funeral, and he’d dug up an old picture of Ashara Dayne from Elia’s things, and aside from a few very  _Martell_  touches, the resemblance was uncanny.

"What are you doing here?" Viserys asked, trying to aim for cold disdain, as was only right.

Rhaenys blinked, faking innocence. “…Because Mum loved really terrifying plants, and I need to tag them so Uncle and Tyene can take over their care and don’t eat anyone?” She tilted her head. “Or set the house on fire. That would be bad.” 

"I mean in the house," Viserys clarified. He remembered the pot she was holding, a plain terra cotta thing he’d painted over with Targaryen colors. It hadn’t been the best- he’d missed patches, bare clay exposed, something his father would have hated. But Elia had loved it, really liked it, and pointed out that orange was a Martell color.

Her shoulders went down. “Ask Dad. He insisted, even though the Uncles asked for me to go home with them.”

“ _He isn’t your father._ " The rage was sudden and burnt like fire. Liar and a thief, how could Elia…

"He says he is," Rhaenys said, trying to stand and wobbling. Her chin went up at that, daring him to do something.

He pushed, like a cuckoo that needed to be driven from the nest. She went sprawling on her back, a flash of fear on her face, bright and vivid against the grey stone of the floor.

"He’s wrong," Viserys said. "Just… remember that, and don’t get comfortable. He’ll realize it soon enough."

He left after that, deciding to stay with Mother in the Red Keep, angry and wanting to hurt something. 

He just wasn’t sure if it was Rhaenys or himself. 

 


	8. Prompt: Date (Rhaenys/Thorin)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (AKA a sharp and sudden reminder that this is a Wold Newton style crossover.)
> 
> (Rhaenys is 27.)

Thorin taken one look at Rhaenys and brought her back to his place in lieu of the more traditional formal date to celebrate the successful defense of her thesis.  
Her ribbon-laced platforms had been left in the entry hall, her usual scarf- a mandatory part of her lace-and-silk armor since their first case when sour- was left on the back of her chair, under his jacket. 

"I love you," she said around her feta burger, bruised eyes bright. "Seriously, you are my new favorite."

"I’ll remember this," he said, trying not to show his amusement, "when your brothers show up and ask why I’m keeping you."

She snickered. “It’ll be Arianne, and I’ll be glaring at her- she’s a terrible flirt. There isn’t a mean bone in her body, but she flirts all the time. I can usually take it better, but I’ve had the odd catnap and that’s it the past few days, and I just had my academic credentials raked over the coals. I’m low on patience right now.”

"I’ve never been accused of having patience, so I’m not in a position to comment," he pointed out. "And Stark let something slip…"

"SHIELD wants a full-time pet archaeologist, and I seem to fit the bill," she admitted. "I’m probably going to accept."

"Make sure they know you need a keeper," he said wryly. She fingered the scar on her throat.

"Do they know you need a navigator?" she shot back. He chuckled and swiped her fries.


	9. Prompt: Dead Boy's Poem (Brienne, Aegon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Aegon are 15.

Stupid, stupid,  _stupid_.

Brienne skipped stones across the God’s Eye, imagining a different face on each stone she threw.

They sank quickly, never skipping more than once or twice. Renly had taught her the trick, one summer before everything fell apart the second time. He’d claimed you needed a light heart to skip a stone all the way to the Isle of Faces, though she’d never seen anyone make it, not even Egg. 

Robar Royce had been the one to tell her about the stupid bet, angry about his younger brother’s stupid and awful behavior that he’d warned Brienne privately, which was fairly decent of him. 

Really, she should have known. Waymar Royce had been one of the boys chasing after  _Rhaenys_ , and Egg and Jon’s older sister was… well, the opposite of Brienne. How could any of them be interested in her?

Well, she reflected, some part of her might have known- she’d stayed closer to Loras, Egg, and Olly, and never actually treated any of them like serious dating material. Which explained the edge to their comments, the horrible ones about making sure someone won the stupid bet soon…

"Can I kill them?" It was Egg, who had dyed his hair a shocking shade of purple this month, with a new piercing on his eyebrow. The Cheeriest Goth was looking completely furious right now, and Brienne could see the shadows of scales underneath his skin. "Please?"

"They didn’t actually do anything," Brienne pointed out. She’d already thought it over herself- Ned Stark would be properly furious, at least. "Nothing illegal, at any rate. All that will happen is that I’ll become the subject of every gossip in town." She looked up at him. "How did you know, anyway?"

He flopped down next to her in a clank. “Marg came in to Highgarden House in a fury- apparently someone wanted to impress her.” He buried his head on her shoulder, hair contrasting against her blue shirt. He was touchy-feely enough for two people sometimes, she thought with a trace of fondness. 

"Have they met Margaery?" Brienne asked, amused despite herself. 

"Apparently not Actual Margaery," he said, a bit less stiff as she carded his hair through her fingers. She’d gotten over any prospective crush on Aegon when they were about twelve and he’d lost his temper spectacularly, after everything had hit the fan and Rhaenys was hurt. Being the center of the normally laid back teenager’s intensity was a terrifying thought, and would have been if he was only human.

The bit where he couldn’t keep a girlfriend for more than two weeks- and she applauded Roslin for that stunning show of stubbornness-  didn’t help. 

They sat like that for a few moments, until Aegon finally straightened up and said, as innocently as possible, “Can I prank them, at least?”

She glared down at him for a moment, just long enough that he started to pout. “ _We_  prank them.”

Two days later, as Ray Connington started braying like a donkey, Brienne had to admit that petty revenge  _was_  satisfying.


	10. Death/Deathbead (Rhaegar)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Three pretty identical prompts? So I’m doing a thing and combining them into one longer fic.)
> 
> (Set right between Cry and Comfort.)
> 
> Rhaenys is 12.

When Hoster Tully called, just before dawn, Rhaegar felt like the world was ending. He fled from the kitchen, straight to his children’s rooms.

Rhaenys wasn’t there, with her blue and bronze blankets hastily made and her ever present knapsack gone from its place near her desk. He flipped through, looking… her current book was gone as well, and the wooden practice sword. Aegon’s bright orange room was empty as well, though the bed wasn’t made and the stuck shelf was open. His toy dinosaurs were all gone, and his little toy microscope kit. Jon was tucked in his bed, the traces of a sleep spell visible in his blankets. 

What had Elia done? 

She couldn’t take Jon, she knew she hadn’t the slender right she had with Aegon, and legally and magically the only right to Rhaenys was what Elia granted him.

"It was only a theory," he hissed, needing to call for his mother to watch over Jon, needing…  "I wouldn’t have done it, even if she had known…"

Elia was dead. Elia was gone, and she’d taken the children, and while he would get Aegon back- nothing Oberyn or Doran could pull would take Aegon away- Rhaenys, his  _daughter_ …

~

"She hasn’t got much time left," Hoster Tully said with evident sympathy. He’d had three children of his own, "I’ll let you be alone with her, then?"

Oberyn and Doran would probably be here soon, Rhaegar knew. “Please.”

There was blood, even through the bandages. A concussion, the chart said, a leg broken in three places, cracked ribs and two punctured lungs. There was an artificial look of peace on her ever-curious face, none of her stubborn sense of responsibility or wicked laughter.

Stab wounds, he noticed with a remote, chilly sense of calm, brushing aside an errant lock of hair. Not the sort of thing you expected from a flipped car, from a little girl found curled around her younger brother.

"She was attacked," he said to the room at large. "So this was  _not_  an accident.”

The question was, did he really trust Jon Arryn and Maege Mormont to find whoever did this and follow through?

He didn’t, he decided. Jon Connington would have to look after the boys, and he would ask Stannis and Malora to watch over Rhae and make certain no one finished the job.

But first…

He hummed, focusing on the damage to her lungs first, testing her ribs and feeling them push back. 

There would be a price for this, but they would deal with that later. Arthur would have approved, he thought, of putting the practicalities before what-ifs and mindless rage. He’d always said Rhaegar was too much a dreamer, though it had been meant fondly enough.

"Don’t you see yon narrow narrow road," he sing-songed, watching the steadying rise and fall of her chest. "So thick beset by thorns and briars, that is the road to righteousness, though after it but few inquire…"

Rhaenys was not his by blood, but she was all that was left of Arthur, of the three young adults who loved each other desperately, two mortal and one not, two pale and one dark, two practical and wry and one… well, humorous and light was not a word given to describe him.

"Don’t you see yon broad broad road," he continued, "that lies across the lily lane? That is the road to wickedness, though some call it the road to heaven…"

Aegon was fine, he knew, baby magic and Targaryen particularities mixing well enough to keep him safe. 

What made Elia run? Drive down the Bone Road in the middle of winter, at _night_? She must have been running to Sunspear. Had some aspect of his work frightened her enough to make her flee like that? He wasn’t sure  _how_ , she’d been normal as of two weeks ago, when Arianne and some of the other local children had come around to play sock hockey with the children… she’d laughed at him, hardly the actions of a frightened or desperate woman…

"Don’t you see yon bonny bonnie road," he kept, "that lies across the ferny brae? That is the road to fair elfland…"

It was, some part of him knew, good that Arthur would forgive him in the afterlife, because it didn’t seem like Elia would be waiting in Heaven with that warm forgiving smile anytime soon. 

If he was being honest, he would add that it was a good thing that Targaryens lived such a long time, because the afterlife, no matter what, would not be a pleasant and welcoming place for him.

Though perhaps he would face it better, after receiving some answers.


	11. Decieve (Rhaenys, Aegon, Brienne)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Rhaenys is 16, Aegon and Brienne are 12.)

Aegon and Brienne looked at each other as Rhaenys went storming out of Rhaegar Targaryen’s study in a flurry of red and black, freckles standing out against the sickly gray color of her skin.

"Rhae, are you okay?" Aegon asked, looking expectantly at Brienne.

"I’m fine, Egg," she said, which was probably one of the most blatant lies Brienne had ever heard. The older girl had lost weight lately, her red summer dress drooping off her shoulders and loose around her waist, and her cheekbones stood out like knives. There were big raccoon like circles under her eyes, as well, and her hands were twitching restlessly.

Brienne was trying not to think of the horror stories some of her neighbors said about the Targaryens, what they did. “Has anyone found out what happened to Willas Tyrell?” A bit older than Rhae, his disappearance was all anyone spoke about, having gone missing while making a routine ride through the woods with her friends’ uncle. 

Rhaenys went stiff, shoulders up and arms tucked in at the elbows. It would have seemed more imposing if she wasn’t leaning against the wall. “No, and I’m starting to think no one will at this rate.” With that, she went off, heels wobbling a little bit as they unevenly clicked.

"Do you know what just happened?" Aegon asked her, eyes wide. Brienne shook her head. "Do you think we should call the uncles?"

"She’ll be mad if we do," Brienne predicted gloomily.

Aegon slumped into Brienne. “So what do I do?”

Brienne didn’t have an answer. Rhaenys was sick, and maybe hiding something, but what  _could_  they do?


	12. Demeter (Nymeria S., Rhaenys)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Rhaenys is 27, Nymeria 31.)

 

Rhaenys had decided to go alone, she reminded herself, fiddling with her gloves as she got off the train station. She’d done this on purpose.

Of course, no one could ever truly hope to beat Arianne and Renly’s gossip network from Hell, so Nymeria was there on her bike. 

"Arianne got a guest room ready for you," Nym said with a slow smile.

"I should go home on the last train," Rhaenys pointed out, as she was only here because she knew the library and could get this done in an uncomfortable afternoon. 

"Your research can be done just as easily at Sunspear as it can on the train," Nym pointed out, "and this way you can let Sarella and I help you look over the books. And none of us will let you set foot in that house alone."

Rhaenys desperately wanted to be back at her tiny little flat, with her usual house-guests and her lock-spells and Meraxes, who was currently in the care of Thorin’s nephews because part of her knew this would happen.”You know I spent sixteen years living in that house.”

"And look how  _that_  ended up,” Nym said with a pointed smile. Rhaenys responded with a rude gesture as Nymeria straightened her bike.

Dragonstone… Rhaenys fought the urge to go running to her old room, which had been converted to a guest room by a surprisingly tactful Dany, and the urge to go running down the bridge and back to the train station. “Does anyone know where Viserys is?” she asked, trying for lightness. 

"Milan for the week," Nym shrugged. "He shouldn't be back for a few days, and gods know that he doesn't go in the library."

Rhaenys was perfectly aware that her nod was too jerky, and marched determinedly at the ironwood doors, trying not to flinch when they flung open.

"Alright, now, what are we researching?" Nymeria asked looking around the high dark hall. "And why does this place always smell like it’s an island in the middle of the ocean?"

"Geography and Westeros don’t get along?" Rhaenys suggested, wondering a bit at the quiet. She didn’t mind it in her place, where Thorin could lounge on her couch reading up on SHIELD files for ages without speaking, or Jon occasionally came to crash, coexisting without actually speaking. Or she had sulking Jaime Lannister left on her doorstep, because Tyrion was the  _worst_  at helping. Here, though… it was like walking into a tomb. “Also, dragons.”

"Dragons," Nymeria said, looking curiously at her. "So… are we looking for spelled crossbows, which are all to be found near Sunspear, or are we looking for books to  _bind_  dragons?”

"Non-standard dragons," Rhaenys mused, walking up the still- tricked staircase, because her father would never think to undo the spellwork, and neither of her brothers would undo it because that would be seen as an admission of guilt. "The description reminded me of some of F… the work I’ve seen on the priesthood of R’hllor."

"Mmm, so Cthulhu’s firebreathing cousin, then," Nymeria summed it up, thankfully ignoring her near slip of the tongue. "This should be fun."

Rhaenys gave her a firefly flicker of a grin, “Don’t tell Sarella that, she’ll want to pull a Steve Irwin on it.”

Nymeria laughed and took the stairs two at a time, and after divesting the Dragonstone library of a few books, including one by a Daemon Targaryen she thought was the brigand, a Tollard’s account of the death of Meraxes, Samwell Tarly’s notes on the Night’s Queen, and a few books on R’hllor, and a book on dragonlore that she remembered Tyrion praising, she thought maybe she could start visiting every once in a while. She listed them and left a note explaining that she was doing research on a sticky note on her father’s desk lamp.

But as she boarded the train home, and received a series of aggrieved texts on her ferret’s bad behavior when left with certain grumpy SHIELD agents, she reflected that it was probably for the best she didn’t. 


	13. Prompt: Deny Me (Arya/Ned/Trystane)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Or the one that is all SecondStarontheLeft's fault)  
> Arya is 18, Ned, Trys, and Gendry are 21.

Ned and Trys had always been in the background of Arya’s life, in the drills and playing that weird Canadian game with the brooms that Uncle Edmure had brought to town. (Trys had once tried to tackle Gendry, because boys were idiots, as Sansa had pronounced when she stopped trying to do one of those amazingly cool spinny jumps a safe distance away and helped make sure neither of them were bleeding too badly. No one really tried again, because Robb was probably the only person near as strong, unless you got Garlan Tyrell involved. And Arya had decided to try doing those spinny jumps.)

And she wasn’t blind- she knew that Ned and Trys were together, that they’d been together  _forever_. 

So when Ned left her a rose at the mechanics, Arya’s first reaction was wondering if there was a bet involved. 

Then Trys left her a book on water dancing- which was actually pretty useful, but what the fuck?

Then Ned came up to her after work, looking surprised when she flipped him over her hip. 

"Arya?" Ned was dazed on the ground, stupid pretty face blank and he blinked as his brain restarted. "What just happened?"

"You- you- it is ten at night, you stupid… what are you doing?" Arya offered him her hand, because Ned was that kind of stupidly honorable, and she really doesn’t think he’s going to try something. 

"Well, it was ten at night, and your sister said you were closing up, and one of the Mormonts said something was seen at the lake this afternoon, so I wanted to offer you a ride home." Ned sounded a bit bemused as he dusted himself off. "Where did you learn that?"

"Elia," she bounced on her feet, now that she knows what is going on. "Cool, isn’t it?"

"It is," Ned agreed, apparently honestly. "Do you mind if we pry Trys out of the library?"

Arya wonders if she should mention the gifts, because she’s still confused about that. But they haven’t tried anything yet, so…

Of course, the Neck bridge was closed because of what a very amused Sansa says is some type of magical alligator, so Sansa joined them in the car as they decided to camp out at Sunspear for the night.

Arianne and Sansa exchanged a look Arya pretended not to understand when Ned and Trys bracketed her when they stayed up to watch movies.

They kept at it- little things Arya thought might be flirting, if it was anyone else. (Both doing the flirting, and someone flirting with Arya. Sansa got the admirers, not Arya.)

And if it wasn’t for the bit where she was still wondering what the hell was going on, Arya might enjoy it. She liked Ned’s willingness to accept her fighting, and Trys’ dry comments on everyone.

But WHAT THE HELL. Alla Tyrell, being one of Arya’s friends who were girls and pretty, might be able to figure it out, but the Tyrells were weird about Martells.

Finally Arianne descended from on high. (Or, at least, down the path to the shop.)

"My brother and his boyfriend are idiots," she started, grinning like the creepy Cheshire Cat from Bran’s copy of  _Alice_. 

"I noticed," Arya said, trying to get the dirt off her hands. Gendry had fled the shop when Arianne came in, the coward. "Do you know why?"

"They both decided they liked you," Arianne started, crossing her arms. "And each other still. So they tried flirting, only they’ve never actually needed to practice, having quite literally stumbled into each other."

"Oh," Arya said, trying to process that. "Right. So… what do I do?"

Arianne sighed. “This is sad. So sad that it might be the basis for my next book.”

Arya threw the rag at her. 

"Just tell them if you are interested- they’re planning on bringing up some pizza," Arianne said, pretending she hadn’t just ducked a greasy rag. "If you aren’t, no harm done. If you are…" Arianne shrugged. "Well, everyone likes a happy ending. Just… don’t tell them I told you!"

With that Arianne walked out, and Gendry poked his head out. 

"Are you going to say yes?" he asked, looking amused. "Or should I hit them over the head with a tire iron?"

"Of course I’m going to say yes, stupid," Arya said, trying not to sound like a scalded cat. "And I can hit them with a tire iron on my own if I want."

Gendry nodded. “I don’t think you can reach their heads, though, m’lady.”

Arya picked up the rag and marched on him.


	14. Prompt: Dinner (Ami F, Leonette(/Garlan))

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ami and Leonette are 15.

"Ami, I don’t think…" Leonette looked at the picnic basket. "Really?"

"I asked Margaery- and I told her it was for you, because, y’know, she actually likes you and probably wouldn’t sabotage it if she knew it wasn’t for me," Ami said with a devastating bluntness. "And then I confirmed it with Egg just in case- he’s over with the Tyrells enough, and he plays the memory game like Rhae does."

So, Leo admitted, it was probably right. Rhae used her memory to deal with her bizarre inability to do even basic math, and hadn’t failed yet. Aegon could probably remember food- wasn’t all teenage boys thought about food and sex? 

(And monster hunting.)

Oh, she was going to ask a teenage boy on a date. A dinner date that was actually a picnic, because Ami would run interference with Rhae&Renly, and her brothers were all off doing other things, and this way no one would stumble in on them.

In theory.

Did she actually want to do this?

"Leo, I think you’re hyperventilating," Ami said, snapping her fingers in front of Leo’s face.

"Movies might be a better choice," Leo answered faintly. "Or just inviting him along until people just assume we’re dating. It worked for Smalljon and Rhae."

"No, no, the way to a man’s heart is through his ribs," Ami pushed her gently. "Er. I mean through his stomach. You might want your field hockey stick, either way." She stuck one hand on a hip, and balanced the picnic basket on the other one.

Leo rolled her eyes and took the basket. “If this fails, I’m siccing Sarella on you.”

Ami actually looked nervous at that.


	15. Prompt: Dionysus (Renly, Rhaenys, Viserys, Stannis)

Renly had walked in the front doors of Dragonstone, which he had done since he was old enough to walk the bridge by himself. 

He’d walked straight to the kitchen and down through the “hidden” door to where Rhaegar kept the alcohol, which wasn’t normal.

Rhaenys looked at Viserys, then at the door. “Er… I’ll deal with this?”

Viserys raised his eyebrows. “Bring water.”

"I know the drill," Rhaenys said wryly, ignoring the smugness in his voice. "That’s why I send Egg to pelt you with water bottles when you’re hungover."

He didn’t dignify that with a response, and Rhaenys filled two thermos with water before she went down.

It was common knowledge that Rhaegar had attempted to place spells to keep underage people out of the alcohol. It was equally common knowledge that Viserys had broken and clumsily reset the spells so often that anyone could open it.

Which is why Rhaenys was not entirely surprised to see Renly was already going for the vodka. The only weird thing was that Renly  _didn’t drink_. It was a Robert thing- the rest of them sometimes had one or two, but Renly got twitchy whenever it was brought up.

"I told Stannis." He sounded a bit lost, which… Rhae was the emotional wreck in this friendship. This was odd. "Accidentally… it slipped out, some stupid comment I said to get under his skin."

"How did he take it?" Rhaenys asked. Robert…  _that_  wouldn’t end well, but Robert Baratheon was never home. But she’d always kind of thought Stannis at least guessed.

"I don’t know?" Renly admitted, ruffling his hair and taking another long swing. "This gets you drunk fast, right?"

"Well, you are going to probably get alcohol poisoning if you continue chugging it, yes," Rhaenys said wryly. She pulled out the apple cider that she and Leo liked and started sipping. "Drink your water."

Renly obediently started drinking the water. “I don’t want to get thrown out.”

"Stannis won’t throw you out, you’re the only one who wakes up whenever Shireen has a nightmare," Rhaenys pointed out. "And you can stay with us for as long as it takes them to realize that."

"Viserys will complain," Renly pointed out. Rhaenys gave him a pointed look. 

Rhaenys waited for Renly to fall asleep- most of a bottle of vodka and a gentle sleeping spell did that- pushed him into the recovery position with her sweater serving as a pillow, and called Stannis.

"Have you seen Renly?" Stannis sounded harried, which was… distressingly normal for her godfather. 

"Yes," Rhaenys said, looking sharply at her brothers, who were peeking down the steps into the giant liqueur cabinet. (She thought it had been an addition of one of the previous Aegons.)

"Is he alright?" Stannis asked.

"Mostly- I knocked him out before he blacked out," Rhaenys was perfectly aware of the pissy note in her voice. "Could you please be here when he wakes up, and reassure him you won’t kick him out for being gay?"

"I haven’t yet," Stannis said, sounding offended. "He’s not exactly subtle, is he?"

"He thinks he managed to keep it from you," Rhaenys sighed and stood on a tip-toe position learned from her disastrous attempt at ballet lessons to swipe a sponge from the drying shelf Egg had installed and throw it at Jon’s head. "See you soon?"

"Of course," he said. "Don’t heal the hangover, though. Some things should be learned through painful experience."


	16. Prompt: Denial (Rhaegar, Rhaenys)

Rhaegar would like to think that if anyone else had been the one to bring it up, he would have listened.

But he never liked Rhaenys’ blonde tagalong Frey, awkward and sharp and bitchy. When he brought it up, Rhaenys had looked annoyed, and told him that Amerei had been bullied and she needed someone to look out for her. 

_"Oh, is that why you came home with a black eye when she first started coming around?" he asked._

_Rhaenys huffed, thirteen and with all of Arthur’s coltishness at that age. “You should have seen the other fellow?”_

"Mr. T, you should take her to a doctor- she nearly fell asleep in History class, and this is  _Rhae_  we’re talking about. She loves school. And she isn’t eating.” Amerei was jumping from one foot to another, trying to keep his attention. “We’re worried, but she keeps pushing us off.”

"If she isn’t worried, than you should listen to her," he said, locking himself in his office.

~

The hospital called again- Lysa Tully rather than Hoster, but it was similar enough to send Rhaegar into panic.

"She fell into the lake," Lysa told him, long red braid swaying as she moved. "Apparently she was looking for Willas Tyrell, and thought he might be on the Isle of Faces. Jaime Lannister found her trying to pull herself out."

"It’s cold out," he said thoughtlessly, looking out the window. "Was the lake frozen?"

"Almost solid- that must have been one of the few patches of thin ice left," Lysa said, eyeing him warily. The doctor- a curvy, comfortable sort of woman who doted on her son and hadn’t spoken to her father since she went to university, he remembered- was keeping her distance. "She’s also lost about half a stone or so recently. She didn’t have it to lose in the first place, though."

"Teenage girls," he muttered, ignoring Dr. Tully’s chilly look. 

"She has an aptitude for healing spells, as well," she added. "Or were you the one who patched up her arm? It looks as though she had the beginnings of a spiral fracture- the sort you get when someone takes your arm and twists."

"Accidents happen," Rhaegar murmered. "Did she say why she thought he might be there?"

"No," Dr. Tully lies, and Rhaegar stops himself from calling her on it. Rhaenys will tell him anyway.

~

"Do you remember the first lessons in magic you gave me?" she asks him, meeting his eyes with Arthur’s cold fury. 

"Of course," he said, sitting down next to her. She looks a bit grey, perhaps, cheekbones sharper than normal and freckles standing out a bit, but she’s also unquestionably alive.

"The first rule- all magic exacts a price. It is so well ingrained that even those who don’t believe in magic know this rule," she recites, the blankets twisting under her blanket. "Did you forget this or just not care in the past four years?"

Every Halloween since the accident, every Midwinter’s night, he’d purposefully kept them in, not complaining when Dragonstone was full of children, convincing everyone that it was merely because he wished his children to be happy.

And then it had fallen through, and someone finally fell in the net he’d accidentally laid.

(Seventh chance, part of him recognized, but he’d squashed that thought repeatedly the past few weeks.)

"And the second rule is to go into any spell with a clear mind," she finished, "otherwise things go in ways you don’t expect. You really cannot follow that lesson, can you? First with Lyanna, than me, and  _Viserys_.”

Oh hell. He hadn’t realized… well, he’d known Viserys had been shocked when he found out about Arthur and… 

…had he ever sit down and spoken to any of them about it?

"He hurt me. I don’t know if he meant it- sometimes I don’t know if he knows if he means any of it, but he needs help. Also…" she frowned.

"She means to ask if you have ever given thought to what happens to a human surrounded by leannan sidhe," Oberyn adds from the doorway, tense and with his hand straying towards a pocket. "Because you are killing her slowly."

She winced, and Rhaegar felt everything slide sideways.


	17. Prompt: Dominate Me (Sansa/Willas, Oberyn)

He was not surprised by the Stark woman on top of Willas, springing up and trying to wrap herself in the blankets, with fire-red curls covering her shoulders and blending into her blush.

He was… slightly surprised at the silk scarves tying Will to the bed. Willas’ expression was faintly amused and challenging, eyebrow raised and half a smirk on his face. “I hope you aren’t about to ask what we were doing.”

Sansa, on the other hand, was quietly annoyed, royal blue blankets like a dress that went high at her collarbone and left most of her arms bare. “Fairly sure that’s obvious,” she agreed, trying for dignity. 

"I wanted to let you know some information," Oberyn said, watching them both.   
"Is it about something trying to kill us?" Willas asked, flopping his head back and exposing his throat. "Or did you just get distracted and decide to break into our house for fun?"

"No," he admitted after a moment. "It could probably have waited?” But the thought of breaking into Highgarden was amusing, and he hadn’t expected the scarves.

"Then you should probably take your eyes off Willas and come back tomorrow," Sansa said primly. "Or I will gag you- I have more scarves."

He couldn’t help himself.

"Do you promise?" 

Sansa narrowed her eyes as Willas choked a laugh. “I have a direwolf. You heal. Do the math.”

Oberyn laughed. “Sometimes you have to admire fate. I’ll be back in the morning.”


	18. Prompt: Dragon (Elia S, Sansa, Joffrey)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Elia is fifteen, Sansa is about fourteen, Joffrey sixteen.)

Elia Sand had been forbidden from starting a fight with Joffrey Baratheon. Which was  _annoying_ \- Mum was worried and Dad thought that she needed to be sneakier. Considering her older sisters, that was... well, she was probably never going to be Obara, but she was also not very well suited to being another Tyene or Sarella. Nym, maybe? But at least she wasn't Egg-levels of unsubtle.

And, hey, it was the first day of school, classes hadn't started yet, and he was already picking on someone- the redheaded bookworm who knit things. Elia was pretty sure she was one of Jon’s Stark cousins, the one who followed Rhae around like a duckling when she was in town and played piano. Sam or Sara or… 

“ _Sansa_ , that’s it!” 

Ignoring the sideways looks from her little outburst, Elia strode over, because now she had an _excuse_. She'd always been taught to stand up to bullies, after all, and if that meant catching them in the act... well, that seemed like a good thing, right? Saving people and all the hero stuff, like Gran Ariella? Dad would probably accept that as an excuse, and no one who wasn't Cersei would disagree that Joffrey needed to be reminded he wasn't God-Emperor of the World and all that shit. (And maybe she should stop sneaking peaks at Arianne's romance novels.) She marched over to Joffrey, who looked up at her and opened his mouth. 

And yelped, clutching his leg and acting like there was a giant gaping hole in his thigh rather than maybe a little hole that wasn't bleeding enough to see.

Sansa winked at her, and the purple plastic knitting needle- which resembled one of Nym’s stiletto daggers, now that Elia thought about it- went back into her bag without Joffrey seeming to notice.

"You should close your mouth- you’ll attract flies with the sort of thing that was about to come out of your mouth." The Stark girl's voice was sweet and slightly condescending, the sort of tone that would drive people up the wall when it was directed at them.

Sansa stood up, meeting Joffrey’s height  _before_  the riot of coronet-braided curls. She spun and met Elia with a bright and friendly smile, ignoring his sputtering. “Hello, you’re Elia, right? One of Trys’s cousins?”

Maybe the Stark girl was more interesting than Elia thought.

Besides, she could use a friend who could talk her out of trouble. And Sansa apparently felt she needed back-up when people creeped on her. 

Plus, free knitting, from what Trys had said.

Win-win.


	19. Prompt: Dreams (Sansa)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prelude to a larger story?

Sansa thought that scents were not a part of dreams. Apparently, that was wrong, because she knew she was dreaming, and she could smell roses, thick enough to choke her.

She walked along a garden, the path twisting and almost overgrown in places. She followed the path, seeing twisting foxglove and rampion twisting along the stone walls, obscuring the engravings and shapes underneath, as bluebells swayed in the breeze.

She didn’t see roses, though, and frowned as she followed the scent.

She woke up with the scent of roses in her nose and the memory of a sad pair of hazel eyes.

She shook it off and got out of bed, Lady giving her pleading eyes as Sansa tried to rearrange her grey comforter that hid the fur a direwolf shed. 

She was going to work on the local history archives with Sam today, focusing on some of the lost works. It should be interesting- some of the local folk collections Mr. Targaryen had donated dealt with them, and it might make a good exhibit, possibly a lecture… 


	20. Prompt: Drink (Rhaenys, Garlan/Leonette, Jaime, Myrcella)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaenys wonders how her place became a hotel room for displaced Westerosi.
> 
> (Probably because Tyrion is well aware of her Big Sister tendencies.)

Somehow, despite the fact that people actually liked Renly, Rhaenys was the one who had people drop in at her place when they were in the city.

(Rhaenys attributed it to the fact that Renly forgot locks and doors and Loras was a screamer. Rhaenys was more… future auntie material.)

Garlan and Leonette stayed before they went to Heathrow, giggly and half drunk and climbing all over each other, since Dad’s guilt money extended to a pricey flat near uni that she didn’t have to share. She didn’t mind, choosing to go to spend her time at the library ‘til closing and pray that they tired themselves out before she got home.

She loved her friends, really, but eloping newlyweds were handsy.

~

She did not need this shit. She was this close to finishing her doctorate, she still had  _screaming_  nightmares about Qyburn, and she did not need this right now.

She nearly turned around and went to get a hotel room, but her notes were still locked in her desk, and she did need them.

She looked down at the blonde man, who smelled as strongly of alcohol as Tyrion had last time he’d crashed on her doorstep. 

She cleared her throat. “Prince Charming?”

He made a noise in the back of his throat. “Firecracker?” Jaime opened his bleary eyes. “Cersei didn’t want me.” 

Rhaenys sighed. She didn’t _like_  Lannisters. She had her suspicions about what had happened to Tywin Lannister, and why. Joffrey Baratheon was a loathsome little toad.

But Jaime had been kind, when she was a gawky kid and he taught her to throw a punch. And he sounded heartbroken.

And he was missing his hand, she could tell, and the other was clutching a hospital bag.

"Tyrion told you to stay here for the night?" she sighed. He nodded. "Should you be that drunk? Or drunk at all?" Painkillers were not meant to be mixed with alcohol, she remembered Lysa telling her with a warning look. Not that she would have tried it.

Probably. Garlan had accepted what happened.

"Want to die," he muttered. "Can’t live."

She let him in and settled him on her couch, but she texted Tyrion pointedly. Shae called her back and promised to make him suffer.

~

A year later, it was Myrcella, who had her dancing bag packed to the brim and chattering about how Uncle Tyrion told her to stay with her while she auditioned for uni dancing programs, and that he said Rhaenys was fine with it. So she had three days of tap shoes on her hardwood floors, and a bouncing blonde who looked far too much like Cersei coming in a bit giggly and  _very_  drunk the first night. Morning.

Which… she was almost an adult, and outside Cersei’s fussiness for the first time. She'd seen her share of crashes in undergrad, and she had no desire to let that happen to Jaime's niece. So Rhae had sighed, and texted Loras, who invited Myrcella to go clubbing with _them_ next time. This time the seventeen year old was not  _too_ drunk, plenty hydrated, and accompanied by two slightly less drunk than they appeared athletes. 

And Rhaenys moved in to her nice, non-Westerosi “It’s Complicated’s” apartment as soon as her lease was up.


	21. Prompt: Drinking (Jon, Sansa, past Jon/Margaery)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Jon is 18, Sansa is 15)

Sansa primly tucked her legs underneath her, spreading her floral-print skirt around to flow neatly and cover her knees. “I’m horrible, I know, but Jon, why are you  _surprised_?”

Jon raised his head from his knees and wished he’d called his older sister- or Robb. Drinks and sympathy sounded really good right now.

But Sansa was fairly good at people-things. And Robb and Jeyne had been _sickeningly_  in love for the past two years, and Jon didn’t need to be near that right now. And Rhaenys… Viserys and Dad were both home, so it would have to be in  _Sunspear_. Or maybe… had she moved to her new university yet? (His sister, getting a doctorate. Dad was dropping Hints that he expected his sons and sister to follow that path.)

"Rhae is at the dig in Cyprus right now," Sansa guessed, "And will be through most of July. Besides," and here Sansa looked vulnerable, "I owe you and Elia both for what happened with Joffrey."

Jon’s grin was more wolf than dragon, he knew, even with the fangs. “He deserved it.”

"You could have gotten in trouble," Sansa pointed out. "Now, what happened with Marg?"

Jon’s sense of remembered satisfaction vanished. “I have no clue. …Help?” Pleading for help usually worked with his cousin. And he did want to know what he’d done wrong- relationships seemed overly complicated to Jon, most of the time.

Sansa closed her eyes and pursed her lips. “I need something to go off of. Did she say she wanted space?”

Jon shook his head. “That she wanted something else? But she didn’t _ask_ for anything, and…” He shrugged.

Margaery Tyrell was nothing like Ygritte. If Jon had made Ygritte unhappy, she would have told him how. 

Possibly with a knife. Sam had sighed when he pointed that out, and pointed out that 

Sansa sighed. “Jon, she got to know you, that’s all.”

Jon tilted his head, perfectly aware that it was very Ghost-like of him. The direwolf was playing with Lady outside, jumping in and out of his view through the window. “And that’s a bad thing?”

"You act very differently around company, that’s all," Sansa said, clearly trying to piece together what she wanted to say. "Some of the other girls say you seem mysterious. Which I really do not get, since you are incredibly _thick_ sometimes."

"Like now? Because Marg’s known me since we were kids- Egg and Loras have been best friends forever." He wanted a drink. Where did Uncle Ned hide the liqueur? 

"You’ve seen each other in snatches, because you usually leave them alone because you and Loras don’t get on," Sansa pointed out with devastating accuracy. "Not exactly a way to showcase your personality. And probably another reason she dumped you- she and Loras are really close. Plus, you are both about to go to different schools at the end of the summer, so that doesn't help."

"So this was inevitable, I should move on, and no one was really at fault?" Jon recited. Which… made sense, he guessed. He'd been getting... not frustrated, exactly, but he'd been asking Sansa and Rhae a bit too much for help for his liking, and they'd been going longer between hanging out...

He probably shouldn't have been surprised.

Sansa hid her smile. “Pretty much, though I  _think_  you get an afternoon to brood as you do.”


	22. Prompt: Earthquakes (Targaryen Kids)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part One- Aegon is 26, Shireen is 19.  
> Part Two- Rhaenys, Ami, and Renly are 11.  
> Part Three- Jon and Sam are 25.

Shireen didn’t drink. Ever. Dad didn’t, and Uncle Renly only drank if Rhae was with him and could get him to remember to stop. Uncle Robert drank, but she didn’t see much of him, and there was always this current of tension that left Shireen trying to hide behind her hair.

Right now, though? She saw the appeal.

“Those are fangs,” she said, voice flat. At least it wasn’t shaking, she told herself. Because they weren’t the slightly cheesy ones in the vampire movies she watched with Meggan and Kurt. They were a full mouth of sharp pointy needles.

And his eyes were orange and had cat-pupils. Still, it wasn’t the weirdest thing she’d ever seen, she reminded herself.

“Yes,” Aegon said finally. His voice was slightly odd, probably because of the Death Teeth, not quite a lisp. It reminded her of the odd language she’d heard him mutter in when he was stressed. “I really didn’t realize how much certain people didn’t tell you until a few days ago.” She followed his line of sight to her dad, who looked uncomfortable and with the reddish not-blush that meant he was caught wrong-footed.

“Considering what happened to the Florents, it seemed prudent,” he said finally.

Aegon snorted. “The Targaryens did  _not_  have a part in that- the Velaryons did it.”

“So it is said,” Dad said. “Do you want to finish now?”

Shireen clapped her hand over Aegon’s mouth. Creepy dragon-face or no, she _knew_  that expression. It wouldn’t end well for anyone.

After a moment, when Aegon’s eyebrows stopped being in a dangerous position, she removed her hand, normal cheek probably bright red.

Aegon half-closed his eyes, slipping back into the face she already knew as he started his story, something in his voice not quite his, reciting a story he knew by heart. “The Targaryens- and some of the other Valyrian families- are not human. Not in the way of the Starks, who serve as the skinchanging Gatekeepers, or the Daynes, who hold the title Sword of the Morning, but in a darker way, in smoke and blood…”

“The Daynes? Like Ned and…” Shireen closed her mouth at the pained expression on Aegon’s face.

“Dammit, Rhae is still my sister, and never, ever suggest anything else to Dad.” He must have seen the confusion on her face, because he continued, shooting her dad a look. He cast about for an explanation. “It’s a Targaryen, dragonlord-ish thing? Fey keep kids, Targs usually collect bodies. So it’s like hoarding, only in his case it was with kids and teaching us. Which is… probably not as bad as it has gotten in the past, with the obvious exceptions? I’m kind of amazed he let Renly leave Dragonstone, but he and Rhae pretty much bounced between here and the island anyway…he was kind of huffy Rhae didn’t bring Sansa over for her music lessons.”

Dad snorted.

“Yes, yes, I know, Sansa is a Disney Princess, we just all ignore the fact that she’s like the one with the ice and snow,” Aegon grinned.

Shireen had to nod at that- Arya’s emails had suggested that Sansa was a bit of a nervous wreck a lot.

~

Part Two

~

 “Oh, look, it’s a Frey.”

“Which one is it?”

Ami felt the flinch, the knot in the back of her neck hot and tight.

“Who cares?”

She walked a bit more quickly, just wanting to get to her apartment. Mum refused to live in the Twins- Granddad’s comments on her and anything female was enough to set Mum and her brother both off. She was quick- she could outrace almost anyone, even with the stupid new bumps on her chest. But the Twins would mean not walking through Harraway Square on the way home from school, so there was the risk of this.

But the boys were older, not to mention the bit where there were three of them, and while she wasn’t annoyed at some people staring at her, she had a bit of a problem when she wasn’t going for it.

“Hey, Frey girl,” said one of the boys, a few years older and with a bit of muscle on him. “Want some company?”

“Not right now,” Ami said, happy with how unafraid she sounded. It didn’t seem to scare them off too much, though.

Then someone came running up, and Ami almost grinned with relief at Rhae Targaryen, who was smiling brightly at Ami and looking unconcerned at the boys. Rhae and her cousin Sarella was about the only girl in school as tall as Ami, and everyone knew she was studying magic at home.

Plus, where Rhae was…

“Wait for me next time,” Renly Baratheon said, panting. “Rhae, you are too fast, you should really think about slowing down, being nice to me.”

“Sorry, I wanted to ask Ami a question about science class, and needing to catch up,” the other girl said, completely ignoring the fact that Ami was failing science. Possibly on purpose, judging by the way she was adjusting her stance.

Renly’s expression- somewhat resigned, blatantly sizing up the three boys- confirmed Ami’s guess. “So we’ll talk and walk?” he asked, clearly hoping for everything to go away.

The tallest of the boys- Leo Tyrell?- was laughing. “You and the fake dragon bitch, yeah. We were talking to the Frey girl.”

Rhae’s smile turned sharp and mean. “Oh? I think she said not now,  _darling_.”

The boy stepped up in her personal space, clearly hoping he could intimidate her.

The resulting fight ended up with Ami slamming her bag into one boy’s stomach, Renly punching and getting hit a lot, and Rhae…

“Can you teach me to punch people like that?” Ami asked without thinking. The dark-haired girl had a puffy eye and was limping a bit, but Leo Tyrell was lying on the ground moaning, so… it seemed like a good deal.

“Can you teach me how you can walk like that in heels?” Rhae asked, trying to fix her ponytail. Someone had tugged a big chunk of her puffy curls loose. “Because I got Jaime Lannister to teach me how to fight, but asking my cousins to teach me something usually ends in tears.”

Ami nodded. “I can do that.”

“Oh no, another girl,” Renly looked in mock misery at the sky. “Seven save me.”

Ami stuck her tongue out at him.

~

Part Three

~

Jon Targaryen was quieter than his brother, and people tended to think that he was a snob.

Which, Sam admitted, probably was a bit true. The thing was, and long association with his family's friends proved it, that Jon was pretty open minded once you called him on it.  Which was how they became friends. Jon had stalked over and sent a simple spell at two bullies, giving them what an older Sam recognized as a "try me, fucker" expression. 

Sam had offered help with his reading.

It had grown from that, but it worked out well enough. 

Which is why Sam was sitting at a bench in a small, overgrown island garden, waiting for the fog to dissipate, shivering in his coat. It was only November, but something had decided winter would come down early and hard this morning. Jon wasn't wearing a jacket, just a ratty old band shirt that might have belonged to his sister, once upon a time. He did that, every so often, borrow Aegon's coat or one of the five million scarves Sansa knit, or one of Robb's winter hats.

"She won," Sam pointed out. "A few bruises and scratches, nothing worse than that."

"Do you know why she had to?" Jon asked, holding a flat skipping pebble and tossing it idly into the air, catching it with a flick of the wrist. 

"Because your dad's a dick," Sam answered after a moment. Jon shot him a look, and Sam shrugged. "I'm in a position to judge."

Jon barked out a laugh, causing Ghost to raise his head and settle back down. "That's true."

They sat in companionable silence for a bit longer, before Jon tossed the pebble and stood up.

"Someone should probably let Rhae know what happened," he admitted. Sam raised his eyebrows- he didn't think Jon had spoken to his sister since he'd found out what happened. 

Jon sighed. "It wasn't her fault. I get that now."

"Good, because Wylla was making threats about you being an idiot who didn't know what a binding spell did," Sam said cheerfully, ducking out of swatting range. 

Jon was a good friend, he just needed to be confronted with reality every once in a while.

 


	23. Prompt: Embarrassment (Jeyne Westerling/Robb Stark)

Jeyne had managed to keep her mother at bay for three whole months. Admittedly,two of those months had been by lying and not telling Mother that she had a boyfriend, which probably wasn’t the best idea, since Uncle Rolph had spotted them and brought it up when she got home. In front of  _everyone_.

But Robb was so sweet, and funny, and she didn’t want him driven away. It had been bad enough when Gilly and Sam had convinced her to join a study group with Jon Targaryen and his friends. She’d never been one of the girls who mooned around the Targaryen brothers, which had helped when she joined them. They were actually pretty down to earth themselves, which helped Jeyne get over her usual nerves pretty quickly. 

But Mother had different ideas, and Jeyne had come up with every excuse possible to make sure she didn’t insist on Jeyne inviting them all to Shell Cottage. The size of the group helped- there was Sam, Gilly, Jon, Roslin, Robb, Meera, Edd, Fred, and whoever else came by. (Loras, Brienne, and Egg, mostly, though that was usually when food was involved. Alys Karstark whenever her brothers drove her crazy.) There simply wasn’t room.

But then Robb had come to her with pleading eyes, begging for extra bio homework that had turned into not-dates and hanging out without the others. Then Robb had brought her to Winterfell and introduced Jeyne as his girlfriend without a pause to consider that they’d never actually said that they were dating.

Mrs. Stark had noticed Jeyne’s slight case of complete and total shock and come to the rescue brilliantly.

So Mother kept asking when Robb was coming over, and Robb started talking to Rollam, and Jeyne caved under the weight of a guilt-tripping mother and her boyfriend’s baffled looks.

Roslin and Gilly had been the greatest, both understanding the bit where occasionally your family was not exactly something you wanted to share with a boy you wanted to climb like a tree.

 _And_ Sansa and Arya had agreed to send Robb an urgent SOS if Jeyne sent a prearranged text message, which was great. (Sansa had made a face of perfect understanding when Jeyne explained how her parents were a lot like Lizzy Bennet’s and promised to help. Arya had gotten it mostly due to Sansa elbowing her in the stomach and hissing " _Cersei Lannister_ " at her younger sister.)

She straightened out her pretty light green blouse she’d gotten hunting thrift shops with Fred, and waited anxiously by the door.

"Really, Jeyne, you would think you were waiting for a stranger," Mother laughed. Eleyna sent her a sympathetic grin.

This was going to be the most awkward dinner party ever.

Five years later, Jeyne would revise that statement in favor of the dinner after her wedding rehersal, in which her mother managed to imply it was a shotgun wedding, insulted Wylla’s hair, Gilly’s todder, Brienne, and a fight broke out.

But at sixteen? She was going to go for the get-to-know-you dinner.


	24. Chapter 24

Arthur/Elia/Rhaegar

It was Elia who brought them together- Elia with her laughing eyes, looking at the world as if it was all a game and she was the only one who knew it. Clever Elia, with a mind quick enough Rhaegar almost couldn’t keep up. She tugged them both together, pointing out that even that dull-witted Lannister who ran the bank thought they were all sleeping together, and she could see how they looked at each other, and, well, she was looking too.

Arthur had smiled- quirked and wry, pointing out he was leaving soon, and leaves home would be few and far between- SHIELD was willing to finance the Sword of the Morning in a way that the Martells alone could not, always the most practical of them. But when he could, he’d come home to them, because who else would keep them from getting in trouble.

Rhaegar had followed, enchanted by how alive they seemed. Arthur’s huffs and how he stepped  _into_ trouble, trying to look out for the Lannister boy who hero-worshipped him, his habit of turning quiet, casual gestures like a brush of the wrist into the equivalent of a kiss. Elia’s laughter, something unstoppable when it got started, her way of rolling her eyes and accepting things, the leaves that invariably tangled in her curls.

Then Arthur died, somewhere cold and far away, and Ned Stark came home with Dawn for Ashara and Edric, retiring and taking on a position in the police for town. Then there was Lyanna, with Arthur’s sense of justice and duty, with a fire entirely her own, bleeding out and Elia’s laughter quieting.

Then Elia, dying where he couldn’t save her, either.

And so he watched over their children, trying not to remember his mistakes.

~

Renly/Loras

Renly, enjoying how having a sprained ankle was keeping him out of the whole “beat Renly with sticks” activity that was a part of life in Westeros, sat down on the riverbank with Rhae, who was home for the weekend and had survived a bout with Garlan and Obara both. His best friend was collapsed on the ground, nursing a spectacular collection of bruises and breathing raggedly.

Renly was enjoying the sight of one of the newer fighters, a topless young man with a mop of chestnut curls whose back was facing him, taking on one of the Royce brothers.

“I love practice bouts,” he said brightly. The young man twisted around, flipping the larger man over his hip. He dusted off his hands and jogged up to the drink cooler, which was behind Rhaenys.

“Hey, Firecracker, Renly,” he said, and Renly wondered who exactly it was- a Tyrell cousin, or someone from one of the citadel neighborhoods?

“Don’t call me that,” Rhae ordered, not opening her eyes. “Love you lots, but not even Marg’s vengeance will keep me from ending you.”

“Fine, Rhae,” he said, pulling out a water and allowing Renly to see the long line of his throat. He was more than twenty, Renly judged, if not by much.  He hadn’t been home much the past few years- he’d taken up with a catering business, and then helping Rhae find a place in the city when she came to get her doctorate, geeky little academic she was.

It was weirdly hard to find an apartment that would allow both a ferret and occasional sub-letting when  Rhae was on a dig or restoration or whatever. Perwyn Frey had gotten Rhae a good deal, at least, though the thought of Mr. T’s fangs might have helped.

(He might have had a slight crush on Mr. T, back when he was fifteen or so and before Rhae’s mental breakdown. Since almost everyone not Ami had, it was okay, he thought.)

The man was smirking. “Not up for another round, Rhae?”

“Bara. Bara and  _Garlan_. Knowing my luck, I’ll end up sparring with Uncle or, gods forbid, one of the scary Mormont ladies?” Rhaenys smacked the grass in mimicry of the surrender gesture. “I don’t want to die.”

“Right- I’m against Leo next, wish me luck?” he gave Renly a wink, and Renly looked smug at Rhae, who opened one eye and gave her scary pirate smile.

The man strutted away, and Renly watched with a wry grin.

“Subtle, Renly, subtle,” Rhae said, eyes closed again.

“He wasn’t subtle,” Renly pointed out. “And he is my type. Snarky, proud, and capable of breaking me in two. Who is he, again?”

Rhae snickered. “Loras Tyrell?”

Renly yelped, leaping half up and sending sparks of pain up his leg. “What? Little Loras Tyrell? Egg’s friend?”

“Garlan’s little brother, yes,” Rhae sounded far too amused.

Renly thought about this- Aegon’s age, or a bit older, if he remembered rightly. “So he really is as much of a cocky prick as he just seemed, then?”

Rhae chuckled.

~

Steve x Margaery

Margaery smirked, head tilted slightly and eyes focused on something only she could see. “You said that whatever this was  _bit_  the victims, right?”

She pressed on her earpiece with one hand, the other typing something in the program she was working on. She spared Steve a glance, smirk shifting slightly. She paused in her typing for a moment, making a “come in gesture”.

“Right, what you have is a ghoul- the teeth are a giveaway. Send me the photo and I can tell you the subspecies, no problem.” Marg gave a showgirl smile that made Steve wonder if he should back out of the room. The USO tour had taught him that showgirl smiles meant that thrown shoes could be a major issue. “Thanks, agent.”

She slumped as she pulled out the headphones. “I am not a cryptozoologist. _Garlan_  is a cryptozoologist, and I do not look like Garlan, being considerably smaller. I am a data analyst and computer security expert, meaning I can trash their credit scores without breaking a sweat. You ops fellows can kill men, I can make their long, long lives a misery.” There was a hint of a mantra in that, and Steve grinned and kissed the top of her head.

“You love your job,” he pointed out, smiling as she tilted her head back into his face. “Something about using girly gossip to put the fear of smiling women into bad guys? I’m not sure I could follow all of it, with all that future talk…” He looked at her with a studied innocent expression, and her mood visibly shifted.

“I love you,” she smiled up at him. “And if I start turning into Cersei Lannister, just… use your shield to do whatever Agent Romanoff calls it? Cranial readjustment or whatever?”

He chuckled at that. “I promise.”


	25. Chapter 25

It is not especially elaborate- a fact which annoyed both Oberyn and Rhaegar.

But the Peace must be kept, as Doran points out, Mel scowling and Rhaegar suspects that this might be a blow that his brother-in-law’s marriage may not survive. She’d thought the police should be called- really, even Outside that was not always the done thing, certainly not when dealing with a man as dangerous as Tywin Lannister.

But Elia is gone, and Rhaenys is still limping about on her crutches, Renly fluttering over her and Aegon has been waking up with nightmares.

Rhaenys had told him, of course, when they were safely in Dragonstone’s walls, his brave daughter told him all that she could remember, the shadow of a man so large he could barely fit through the car door, the smaller man and his large knife. 

(Lysa, dearhearted woman that she was, had agreed to play dumb as to the nature of Rhaenys’ injuries, promising to tell nothing. She had her own son, after all, and was as viciously protective as Rhaegar.)

They all knew who the hirelings were, magpies the both of them- Amory Lorch was a slave to that cursed knife, won from a barfight thirty years ago, and Gregor Clegane…

They weren’t entirely sure  _what_  was in the Clegane bloodline, but Rhaegar speculated it was a cryptid of some sort. 

Rhaegar could kill him, either way. Not many cryptids were strong enough to fight dragonsblood and live, and watered down with human blood, there was no real contest.

Lorch, of course, would be Oberyn’s job. The cursed knife would pose a problem- whatever problems existed between the three of them,  Rhaegar did not want his children to lose their uncle, but Oberyn swore he could handle it.

And as for Lannister… he was dealt with first.One of the favors Doran had accrued during his time Outside, an “accident”, and a rather tasteless funeral later, no one really noticed that Clegane was “disappeared” into the woods, and that Lorch’s talent for violence earned him a messy death.

And that, Rhaegar considered, was that.


End file.
